V a r n e y t h e V a m p y r e
(Chapters 1 through 3)
-----------------------------------
A MiSTing by Jim Gadfly
gadfly@angelfire.com
Published November 7, 1999
NOTE: This story is set around Halloween of 1998.
8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8
[Season 9 opening images and theme.]
...o...2...3...4...5...6...*
[Satellite of Love. Bridge. The console has a Lack-o-Lantern sitting
on it. The dog-bone on the door has a paper skeleton taped to it, and
large black and orange letters spelling "HAPPY HALLOWEEN" are strung
from the ceiling. Mike stands behind the console wearing a scarecrow
costume somewhat reminiscent of Ray Bolger's without the facial makeup.
Beside him is Tom, who is dressed as a devil, with horns attached to
his head, a small black cloak around his neck and a small pitchfork in
one hand.]
MIKE: [To us] Hello, everybody! Welcome to the Satellite of Love.
We were all just getting ready for Halloween here --
[Mike pauses as he hears Crow (from offstage) singing "It's Beginning
to Look a Lot Like Christmas." Soon Crow enters, still singing, and
wearing a Santa Claus outfit. Mike and Tom look at him in confusion.]
MIKE: Crow, what's with the Santa outfit on Halloween?
TOM: Yeah, what the hell --
CROW: [To Tom] Ah, appropriate prolation, Apollyon. I'm just trying
to dress appropriately for the holidays. Ho ho ho!
MIKE: Yeah, but Tom, it's *Halloween*. Santa's not associated with this
particular day.
CROW: Oh, no? Have you been to the stores lately?
MIKE: Well, no, Crow, we've all been kinda stuck up here--
CROW: Then take my word for it, Mike. By the end of October, there's
more Christmas stuff out there than Halloween stuff.
MIKE: Yeah, but--
CROW: So I figured, why spend the extra money on getting two costumes, when
I can get just this one and not only use it for trick-or-treating
to get candy, but use it for the next couple of months to get cash?
TOM: Cash, eh? And just how are you planning to do *that*?
CROW: Simple. You hang a little pot on a street corner and ring a little
bell, and people stop by and drop money in it.
MIKE: But Crow, you're then supposed to give that money to charity!
CROW: You *are*? *Really*? Nobody ever told me about *that* part!
TOM: Ah, jeez.
MIKE: [Shaking his head and looking at us] We'll be right back.
CROW: [As we fade to commercial break] How was *I* supposed to know?
[Commercials.]
[When we return from commercial break, Crow, Mike and Tom are in
the same positions as we left them.]
TOM: [To Crow] And whoever heard of wearing a Santa outfit
for Halloween? Since when did Saint Nicholas strike terror
into the hearts of people?
CROW: Hey, ever see the "Silent Night, Deadly Night" movies?
TOM: Oh, yuck. I said *terror*, not *nausea*.
MIKE: Yeah, really.
[The mads light begins flashing.]
MIKE: Ah, and speaking of tasteless and crude movies, it looks
like Castle Creep's calling. [Hits light and looks at us]
Yes, Mrs. Forrester?
[Castle Forrester. Pearl sits at one end of a couch, an old
book opened in her lap. Bobo and Observer sit huddled together
toward the other end of the couch. Actually, we must assume that
it is Bobo and Observer as all we really see is a big shivering lump
covered by a large blanket. In front of the couch sits a coffee
table covered with several old, dusty books and magazines.]
PEARL: [Reading to them, her voice menacing] "And there, in the buggy
whip holder, was a --" [She notices the interface is active and
looks at us, smiling] Oh, good evening, trickees. I see you're
already dressed for the evening. Appropriate outfit, Mike,
oh brainless one. Tom's *literally* a little devil tonight
and Crow's [she frowns] an unpleasant early reminder of that
sickly sweet season soon to come. [She smiles again] But
tonight it's *my* night, boys! [Gestures to the table]
I've found some old reading material up in the attic, a lot
of ghost and horror stories dating back to the beginning
of last century. I've been -- entertaining -- Brain Guy
and Bobo with them and, I must say, they're still pretty
effective -- [to the lump] RIGHT, GUYS?
[Bobo and Observer both give a yelp and the shivering increases.
Pearl chuckles.]
[SoL]
MIKE: [Nervously] Well, gee, that's interesting, Pearl. I guess we
should let you get back to reading your stories.
TOM: Ah, yeah. Sorry to interrupt.
CROW: You go ahead, I'm sure we can find something else to do tonight.
[CF. Pearl looks at us, smiles, and shakes her head.]
PEARL: Huh-uh. I wouldn't *dream* of letting you feel left out.
In fact -- [she reaches down and picks up a small stack
of magazines] -- I saved a special treat for you guys.
It's a little vampire serial from the 1840's, and I don't
mean Count Chocula. It's called "Varney the Vampyre", and
it was apparently a pretty long story, strung out over
lots of issues. It came out like fifty years before "Dracula",
but the writing quality was -- well, let's put it this way.
They used to call these things "Penny Dreadfuls", and in this
case they were only half right, because it was overpriced.
Anyway, seeing that Halloween puts me in such a good mood,
I'm only going to send you the first three chapters to give
you a taste of what's ahead. Okay, Brain Guy, set it up!
[There is nothing from the lump but further shivering and cowering
sounds.]
PEARL: [Irritated] I said sent it up! [She swats the lump hard with
the stack of magazines.]
BOBO: [From under the blanket] OW! I'm afraid that was me, Lawgiver.
PEARL: Well, darn it! [She swats the lump in a different spot.]
OBSERVER: [From under the blanket] OUCH! Oh, I'm sorry, is it time?
PEARL: Good deduction, Sherlock.
OBSERVER: Very well.
[We hear the "brain noise" and see a head-wiggling motion from one
of the figures under the blanket.]
[SoL. Alarms blare and lights flash.]
ALL: AAAAAH! WE'VE GOT STORY SIGN!!!
*...6...5...4...3...2...o...
[Theater. Mike enters, carrying Tom, followed by Crow.
They take their usual seats.]
MIKE: "Penny Dreadful", huh?
TOM: Last time I heard that phrase was during a critique of the
acting in the new "Lost in Space" movie.
[The story begins unfolding.]
>
> VARNEY, THE VAMPYRE;
> OR,
CROW: "Ernest Goes to Transylvania."
> THE FEAST OF BLOOD
> A Romance.
TOM: A *romance*?
MIKE: Yeah. I think that Doris Day and Rock Hudson made a
version of this back in the '60's.
>
> CHAPTER I.
>
> ----"How graves give up their dead,
> And how the night air hideous grows
> With shrieks!"
CROW: [Sighing] Ah, yes, I'm feeling romantic already.
>
> MIDNIGHT. -- THE HAIL-STORM. -- THE DREADFUL VISITOR. -- THE VAMPYRE.
TOM: Apparently the author had a hard time starting his first sentence.
>
>
> The solemn tones of an old cathedral clock have announced
> midnight -- the air is thick and heavy --
MIKE: Sounds like the air needs some Slim Fast.
> a strange, death like
> stillness pervades all nature. Like the ominous calm which precedes
> some more than usually terrific outbreak of the elements, they seem
> to have paused even in their ordinary fluctuations, to gather a
> terrific strength for the great effort.
TOM: Wow, that's two "terrific"s and one "great" in the same sentence.
CROW: This must've been written by an early ad man.
> A faint peal of thunder now
> comes from far off. Like a signal gun for the battle of the winds to
> begin, it appeared to awaken them from their lethargy, and one awful,
> warring hurricane swept over a whole city, producing more devastation
> in the four or five minutes it lasted, than would a half century of
> ordinary phenomena.
MIKE: We now go to Dan Rather for a live on-the-spot report.
>
> It was as if some giant had blown upon some toy town, and
> scattered many of the buildings before the hot blast of his terrific
> breath;
TOM: Godzilla, NO!
> for as suddenly as that blast of wind had come did it cease,
> and all was as still and calm as before.
MIKE: I guess maybe God sneezed?
CROW: Hummm -- when God sneezes, who blesses him?
>
> Sleepers awakened, and thought that what they had heard must be
> the confused chimera of a dream. They trembled and turned to sleep
> again.
TOM: SLEEEEP!
>
> All is still -- still as the very grave. Not a sound breaks the
> magic of repose. What is that -- a strange pattering noise, as of a
> million fairy feet?
CROW: A Pride Day parade?
TOM: D'ooh!
[Mike bops Crow on the head.]
CROW: Hey! What? What?
> It is hail -- yes, a hail-storm has burst over
> the city. Leaves are dashed from the trees, mingled with small
> boughs;
MIKE: Cradles start falling down all over the city --
> windows that lie most opposed to the direct fury of the
> pelting particles of ice are broken, and the rapt repose that before
> was so remarkable in its intensity, is exchanged for a noise which,
> in its accumulation, drowns every cry of surprise or consternation
> which here and there arose from persons who found their houses
> invaded by the storm.
TOM: So, to sum up, it was a dark and stormy night.
>
> Now and then, too, there would come a sudden gust of wind that
> in its strength, as it blew laterally, would, for a moment, hold
> millions of the hailstones suspended in mid air, but it was only to
> dash them with redoubled force in some new direction, where more
> mischief was to be done.
CROW: See what happens when Chi-Chi's has an all-you-can-eat special?
>
> Oh, how the storm raged! Hail -- rain -- wind. It was, in very
> truth, an awful night.
MIKE: Well, that concludes our weather report. Next up, sports!
>
> * * * *
>
> There was an antique chamber in an ancient house.
TOM: Or was that an ancient chamber in an antique house?
> Curious and
> quaint carvings adorn the walls, and the large chimneypiece is a
> curiosity of itself. The ceiling is low, and a large bay window, from
> roof to floor, looks to the west. The window is latticed, and filled
> with curiously painted glass
CROW: Curiouser and curiouser.
> and rich stained pieces, which send in a
> strange, yet beautiful light, when sun or moon shines into the
> apartment.
TOM: Wow, fancy condo.
> There is but one portrait in that room, although the
> walls seem paneled for the express purpose of containing a series of
> pictures.
CROW: So the walls have extra plug-in ports for expansion.
MIKE: Maybe this is Bill Gates's house?
> That portrait is of a young man, with a pale face, a
> stately brow, and a strange expression about the eyes, which no one
> cared to look on twice.
TOM: Sounds like a reproduction of The Master's portrait from "Manos."
CROW: Don't say that even in jest!
>
> There is a stately bed in that chamber, of carved walnut-wood is
> it made, rich in design and elaborate in execution; one of those
> works which owe their existence to the Elizabethan era. It is hung
> with heavy silken and damask furnishing; nodding feathers are at its
> corners -- covered with dust are they,
MIKE: [As Yoda] Covered with dust are they, hummmm?
> and they lend a funereal
> aspect to the room. The floor is of polished oak.
TOM: Yes, an entire forest gave its life just to make this bedroom.
>
> God! how the hail dashes on the old bay window! Like an
> occasional discharge of mimic musketry, it comes clashing, beating,
> and cracking upon the small panes; but they resist it -- their small
> size saves them; the wind, the hail, the rain, expend their fury in
> vain.
CROW: See? Size *does* matter.
>
> The bed in that old chamber is occupied.
MIKE: Bill Clinton rented it out to a contributor.
> A creature formed in
> all fashions of loveliness lies in a half sleep upon that ancient
> couch --- a girl young and beautiful as a spring morning.
TOM: [With Irish accent] The lass probably uses Irish Spring.
CROW: [Falsetto with Irish accent] Manly, yes, but I like it too.
> Her long
> hair has escaped from its confinement and streams over the blackened
> coverings of the bedstead; she has been restless in her sleep, for
> the clothing of the bed is in much confusion. One arm is over her
> head, the other hangs nearly off the side of the bed near to which
> she lies.
MIKE: At least she's not one of those girls who hogs the middle of
the bed.
TOM: Not that *you'd* know anything about that, eh Mike?
MIKE: Hey!
> A neck and bosom that would have formed a study for the
> rarest sculptor that ever Providence gave genius to, were half
> disclosed.
CROW: So this is taking place in Rhode Island?
> She moaned slightly in her sleep, and once or twice the
> lips moved as if in prayer -- at least one might judge so, for the
> name of Him who suffered for all came once faintly from them.
MIKE: Uh, given the description, I'd say we'd better know what she's
dreaming before we assume that little utterance was really
a prayer.
>
> She had endured much fatigue, and the storm does not awaken her;
> but it can disturb the slumbers it does not possess the power to
> destroy entirely. The turmoil of the elements wakes the senses,
> although it cannot entirely break the repose they have lapsed into.
CROW: Does this bother you? I'm not waking you.
>
> Oh, what a world of witchery was in that mouth,
TOM: [As Wicked Witch] Oh, what a world, what a world!
> slightly parted,
> and exhibiting within the pearly teeth that glistened even in the
> faint light that came from that bay window.
MIKE: And would you believe she's a smoker? That Topol toothpaste's
fantastic!
> How sweetly the long
> silken eyelashes lay upon the cheek. Now she moves, and one shoulder
> is entirely visible --
CROW: I've heard of sleep walkers, but sleep strippers?
> whiter, fairer than the spotless clothing of
> the bed on which she lies, is the smooth skin of that fair creature,
> just budding into womanhood, and in that transition state which
> presents to us all the charms of the girl -- almost of the child,
> with the more matured beauty and gentleness of advancing years.
MIKE: Uh, guys, maybe we should slip out and leave the author alone
with his thoughts here --
>
> Was that lightning?
TOM: Yes. God's warning you to lay off the erotic elaborations.
> Yes -- an awful, vivid, terrifying flash --
> then a roaring peal of thunder, as if a thousand mountains were
> rolling one over the other in the blue vault of Heaven! Who sleeps
> now in that ancient city?
CROW: People that've been reading this story.
> Not one living soul. The dread trumpet of
> eternity could not more effectually have awakened any one.
TOM: "Dread trumpet of eternity"? Does that have something to do with
Mr. B. Natural?
>
> The hail continues. The wind continues. The uproar of the
> elements seems at its height. Now she awakens -- that beautiful girl
> on the antique bed; she opens those eyes of celestial blue, and a
> faint cry of alarm bursts from her lips.
MIKE: [As girl] FABIO! What -- oh, darn, it was just a dream.
> At least it is a cry which,
> amid the noise and turmoil without, sounds but faint and weak. She
> sits upon the bed and presses her hands upon her eyes. Heavens! what
> a wild torrent of wind, and rain, and hail!
CROW: Suddenly Miss Gulch flies by the window on her bike.
> The thunder likewise
> seems intent upon awakening sufficient echoes to last until the next
> flash of forked lightning should again produce the wild concussion of
> the air.
TOM: This must've been the night of the first Tibetan Freedom Concert.
> She murmurs a prayer -- a prayer for those she loves best;
> the names of those dear to her gentle heart come from her lips; she
> weeps and prays; she thinks then of what devastation the storm must
> surely produce, and to the great God of Heaven she prays for all
> living things. Another flash -- a wild, blue,
CROW: Yonder?
> bewildering flash of
> lightning streams across that bay window, for an instant bringing out
> every colour in it with terrible distinctness. A shriek bursts from
> the lips of the young girl, and then, with eyes fixed upon that
> window, which, in another moment, is all darkness, and with such an
> expression of terror upon her face as it had never before known, she
> trembled, and the perspiration of intense fear stood upon her brow.
MIKE: Well, try singing about your favorite things and see if that helps.
>
> "What-- what was it?" she gasped; "real or delusion? Oh, God,
> what was it?
TOM: [As George Burns] How should *I* know?
> A figure tall and gaunt, endeavouring from the outside
> to unclasp the window. I saw it. That flash of lightning revealed
> it to me. It stood the whole length of the window."
CROW: [As author] Look, lady, if you're going to take over the
narration here, there are other things *I* could be doing.
>
> There was a lull of the wind. The hail was not falling so
> thickly -- moreover, it now fell, what there was of it, straight, and
> yet a strange clattering sound came upon the glass of that long
> window. It could not be a delusion -- she is awake, and she hears
> it. What can produce it? Another flash of lightning -- another
> shriek -- there could be now no delusion.
MIKE: Maybe it's just Robert Stack trying to sell her a home security
system.
>
> A tall figure is standing on the ledge immediately outside the
> long window. It is its finger-nails upon the glass that produces the
> sound so like the hail, now that the hail has ceased.
TOM: As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door --
> Intense fear
> paralysed the limbs of the beautiful girl. That one shriek is all
> she can utter -- with hand clasped, a face of marble, a heart beating
> so wildly in her bosom, that each moment it seems as if it would
> break its confines, eyes distended and fixed upon the window, she
> waits, froze with horror. The pattering and clattering of the nails
> continue.
MIKE: [As figure, muffled voice] Excuse, ma'am, I do home improvements.
I see you've got some broken windows out here and I'd like to give
you a free estimate --
> No word is spoken, and now she fancies she can trace the
> darker form of that figure against the window, and she can see the
> long arms moving to and fro, feeling for some mode of entrance.
MIKE: [As figure, muffled voice] Hey, lady, I need a little help here --
> What
> strange light is that which now gradually creeps up into the air?
> red and terrible -- brighter and brighter it grows.
CROW: And where it stops, nobody knows!
> The lightning
> has set fire to a mill,
TOM: And thus does philosophy tragically loose one of its great minds.
> and the reflection of the rapidly consuming
> building falls upon that long window. There can be no mistake. The
> figure is there, still feeling for an entrance, and clattering
> against the glass with its long nails, that appear as if the growth
> of many years had been untouched.
MIKE: Ah, this must be one of Flo-Jo's ancestors.
> She tries to scream again but a
> choking sensation comes over her, and she cannot. It is too dreadful
> -- she tries to move -- each limb seems weighted down by tons of lead
> -- she can but in a hoarse faint whisper cry, --
>
> "Help-- help-- help-- help!"
TOM: [Sings, falsetto] Help me if you can, I'm so afra-a-aid --
MIKE: [Sings, falsetto] For beyond the window lurks an evil sha-a-ade --
CROW: [Sings, falsetto] Won't someone come rescue this virgin ma-a-aid --
ALL: [Sing, falsetto] Won't you please, please help me!
>
> And that one word she repeats like a person in a dream. The red
> glare of the fire continues. It throws up the tall gaunt figure in
> hideous relief against the long window. It shows, too, upon the one
> portrait that is in the chamber, and the portrait appears to fix its
> eyes upon the attempting intruder, while the flickering light from
> the fire makes it look fearfully lifelike.
CROW: Oh, it must be one of those novelty pictures with the eyes that
follow you around the room!
TOM: Cool!
> A small pane of glass is
> broken, and the form from without introduces a long gaunt hand, which
> seems utterly destitute of flesh.
MIKE: So far he sounds like Howard Hughes in his last years.
> The fastening is removed, and
> one-half of the window, which opens like folding doors, is swung wide
> open upon its hinges.
TOM: [As figure, deep voice] Ah-ha! You see I have the incredible
power to break small panes of glass! Tremble before me!
>
> And yet now she could not scream -- she could not move. "Help!
> -- help! -- help!" was all she could say. But, oh, that look of
> terror that sat upon her face, it was dreadful -- a look to haunt the
> memory for a life-time -- a look to obtrude itself upon the happiest
> moments, and turn them to bitterness.
MIKE: Good Heavens, he's right! I'm already starting to look back on my
12th birthday party with distaste and loathing!
>
> The figure turns half round, and the light falls upon its face.
> It is perfectly white -- perfectly bloodless.
CROW: Oh no, she's being attacked by an anemic mime!
> The eyes look like
> polished tin; the lips are drawn back, and the principal feature next
> to those dreadful eyes is the teeth -- the fearful looking teeth --
> projecting like those of some wild animal, hideously, glaringly
> white, and fang-like.
MIKE: Oh, wow, fangs!
CROW: You're welcome.
> It approaches the bed with a strange, gliding
> movement.
TOM: Hey, early hoverskirt technology! Neat!
> It clashes together the long nails that literally appear
> to hang from the finger ends. No sound comes from its lips. Is she
> going mad -- that young and beautiful girl exposed to so much terror?
> she has drawn up all her limbs; she cannot even now say help. The
> power of articulation is gone, but the power of movement has returned
> to her;
MIKE: She's the type that has trouble patting her head and rubbing her
tummy at the same time.
> she can draw herself slowly along to the other side of the
> bed from that towards which the hideous appearance is coming.
CROW: [As intruder, deep voice] Playing hard to get, are we?
>
> But her eyes are fascinated. The glance of a serpent could not
> have produced a greater effect upon her than did the fixed gaze of
> those awful, metallic-looking eyes that were bent down on her face.
TOM: [As Arnold] Come with me if you want to live.
> Crouching down so that the gigantic height was lost, and the
> horrible, protruding white face was the most prominent object, came
> on the figure. What was it? -- what did it want there?
MIKE: He vants to zuck your blaaaad!
> -- what made
> it look so hideous -- so unlike an inhabitant of the earth, and yet
> be on it?
CROW: [As intruder, irritated] Oh, like *you're* such a prize --
>
> Now she has got to the verge of the bed, and the figure pauses.
TOM: [As intruder] Wait, you're not Elvira! Oh no, this isn't 666 Cherry
Street, is it? My, this is *so* embarrassing --
> It seemed as if when it paused she lost the power to proceed. The
> clothing of the bed was now clutched in her hands with unconscious
> power. She drew her breath short and thick.
MIKE: Must be cause'a that thick and heavy air.
> Her bosom heaves, and
> her limbs tremble, yet she cannot withdraw her eyes from that
> marble-looking face.
CROW: [As intruder, soothingly] You just keep looking at my face, dear.
I'll keep on looking at your bosom.
> He holds her with his glittering eye.
CROW: Ewwww, gross!
MIKE: No, he means metaphorically.
CROW: Oh.
>
> The storm has ceased -- all is still. The winds are hushed; the
> church clock proclaims the hour of one: a hissing sound comes from
> the throat of the hideous being, and he raises his long, gaunt arms
TOM: And the *true* horror is revealed -- he hadn't used anti-perspirant
that morning!
> -- the lips move. He advances. The girl places one small foot on to
> the floor. She is unconsciously dragging the clothing with her. The
> door of the room is in that direction -- can she reach it?
MIKE: Well, it's possible that--
> Has she
> power to walk?
CROW: Sure, but it depends on--
-- can she withdraw her eyes from the face of the
> intruder, and so break the hideous charm?
TOM: Actually, if he's got her mesmer--
> God of Heaven! is it real,
> or some dream so like reality as to nearly overturn judgment forever?
ALL: WE DON'T KNOW!
>
> The figure has paused again, and half on the bed and half out of
> it that young girl lies trembling. Her long hair streams across the
> entire width of the bed. As she has slowly moved along she has left
> it streaming across the pillows.
MIKE: Jeez, who is she, president of the Crystal Gayle fan club?
> The pause lasted about a minute --
> oh, what an age of agony. That minute was, indeed, enough for
> madness to do its full work in.
TOM: [As Digger Smolken] But indeed I do not know how long that minute
was for I am mad.
>
> With a sudden rush that could not be foreseen -- with a strange
> howling cry that was enough to awaken terror in every breast, the
> figure seized the long tresses of her hair, and twining them round
> his bony hands he held her to the bed. Then she screamed --
CROW: [As girl] HEY, BUDDY, LAY OFF THE DO!
> Heaven
> granted her then power to scream. Shriek followed shriek in rapid
> succession. The bed-clothes fell in a heap by the side of the bed --
> she was dragged by her long silken hair completely on to it again.
MIKE: [As intruder, gruffly] C'mon, Rapunzel, we've got a dinner date.
Heh-heh.
> Her beautifully rounded limbs quivered with the agony of her soul.
> The glassy, horrible eyes of the figure ran over that angelic form
> with a hideous satisfaction -- horrible profanation.
CROW: Roma Downey, NO!
> He drags her
> head to the bed's edge. He forces it back by the long hair still
> entwined in his grasp.
TOM: [As girl] Damn! Why didn't I get that Dorothy Hamill cut when
I had the chance?!
> With a plunge he seizes her neck in his
> fang-like teeth -- a gush of blood, and a hideous sucking noise
> follows. _The girl has swooned, and the vampyre is at his hideous
> repast!_
CROW: Oh, what a relief. I thought he'd be at her throat.
>
> * * * *
> -+-
>
>
> Chapter II.
>
> THE ALARM. -- THE PISTOL SHOT. -- THE PURSUIT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
TOM: "Pursuit and Consequences" -- wasn't that an old game show with
Bob Barker?
MIKE: No, you're thinking of "Truth or Consequences."
CROW: Isn't that also the name of a city in Arizona?
MIKE: I think it's in New Mexico.
CROW: Wherever.
>
>
> Lights flashed about the building, and various room doors
> opened; voices called one to the other.
CROW: Mary Ellen?
MIKE: Jim Bob?
TOM: John Boy?
MIKE: Mickey?
TOM: Chief?
CROW: McCLOUD!
> There was an universal stir
> and commotion among the inhabitants.
TOM: Which is of somewhat better quality than an American-International
stir.
>
> "Did you hear a scream, Harry?" asked a young man, half-dressed,
> as he walked into the chamber of another about his own age.
MIKE: Unfortunately, it was his *top* half that was dressed!
TOM & CROW: EWWWW!
>
> "I did-- where was it?"
>
> "God knows. I dressed myself directly."
CROW: Which is better than dressing one's self indirectly, I suppose.
>
> "All is still now."
>
> "Yes; but unless I was dreaming there was a scream."
>
> "We could not both dream there was.
TOM: That's right, the government has ordained one scream per dreamer
per night.
> Where do you think it came
> from?"
>
> "It burst so suddenly upon my ears that I cannot say."
MIKE: Yeah, right. In other words he's scared to go look.
>
> There was a tap now at the door of the room where these young
> men were, and a female voice said, --
CROW: [As Magic Voice] Commercial sign in 30 seconds.
>
> "For God's sake, get up!"
>
> "We are up," said both the young men, appearing.
>
> "Did you hear anything?"
TOM: And why are you together in this room -- one of you
only half dressed -- hummmm ...
>
> "Yes, a scream."
>
> "Oh, search the house -- search the house; where did it come
> from, can you tell?"
>
> "Indeed we cannot, mother."
CROW: Hey, watch the language!
MIKE: No, that's his *real* mother.
CROW: Oh. Sorry.
>
> Another person now joined the party.
TOM: And he even brought his own beer!
> He was a man of middle
> age, and, as he came up to them, he said, --
MIKE: [As man] Has anybody seem my Viagra?
>
> "Good God! what is the matter?"
>
> Scarcely had the words passed his lips, than such a rapid
> succession of shrieks came upon their ears, that they felt absolutely
> stunned by them.
CROW: Which was not exactly the effect hoped for by the shriek-er.
> The elderly lady, whom one of the young men had
> called mother, fainted, and would have fallen to the floor of the
> corridor in which they all stood, had she not been promptly supported
> by the last comer, who himself staggered,
MIKE: Being partially inebriated --
> as those piercing cries
> came upon the night air. He, however, was the first to recover, for
> the young men seemed paralysed.
TOM: [As older man, to himself] God, what a couple of slackers.
>
> "Henry," he cried, "for God's sake support your mother.
CROW: [As Henry] But we agreed to put her in a nursing home!
> Can you
> doubt that these cries come from Flora's room?"
MIKE: Guys, don't you think an economy of expression would be in order here?
>
> The young man mechanically supported his mother, and then the
> man who had just spoken darted back to his own bed-room,
TOM: Where he dove under the bed and cowered --
> from whence
> he returned in a moment with a pair of pistols, and shouting, --
CROW: [As man] Sorry I have to leave now, but the NRA rally starts
in 15 minutes!
>
> "Follow me who can!" he bounded across the corridor in the
> direction of the antique apartment, from whence the cries proceeded,
> but which were now hushed.
MIKE: Everybody else just stayed where they were and watched him go.
>
> That house was built for strength,
TOM: It even had a bowflex in the gym.
> and the doors were all of
> oak, and of considerable thickness.
CROW: Like the inhabitants.
> Unhappily, they had fastenings
> within, so that when the man reached the chamber of her who so much
> required help, he was helpless, for the door was fast.
MIKE: It could run a mile in just over 4 minutes.
>
> "Flora! Flora!" he cried; "Flora, speak!"
ALL: ARF! ARF! BARK! ARF! WOOF! BARK!
>
> All was still.
>
> "Good God!" he added; "we must force the door."
CROW: [Deep God-like voice] Go ahead, I'm with you.
>
> "I hear a strange noise within," said the young man, who
> trembled violently.
>
> "And so do I. What does it sound like?"
TOM: [As young man] It sucks!
>
> "I scarcely know; but it closest resembles some animal eating,
> or sucking some liquid."
CROW: [As young man] And is that slurping I hear? What atrocious manners!
>
> "What on earth can it be? Have you no weapon that will force
> the door? I shall go mad if I am kept here."
MIKE: Call me silly, but since you've got two pistols couldn't you try
shooting out the door lock?
TOM: But, really, how realistic is shooting out door locks, anyway?
MIKE: How realistic is *this* story?
TOM: Hum. Good point.
>
> "I have," said the young man. "Wait here a moment."
>
> He ran down the staircase,
TOM: Out the door, down the road and didn't stop until he was in the
next county.
> and presently returned with a small,
> but powerful, iron crow-bar.
CROW: Hey! You didn't ask me if you could borrow that!
>
> "This will do," he said.
>
> "It will, it will. -- Give it to me."
MIKE: Okay. [Makes whacking sound.] OUCH!
>
> "Has she not spoken?"
>
> "Not a word. My mind misgives me that something very dreadful
> must have happened to her."
>
> "And that odd noise!"
TOM: It's worse than a '72 Buick!
>
> "Still goes on. Somehow, it curdles the very blood in my veins
> to hear it."
CROW: Maybe he should switch to 1%?
>
> The man took the crow-bar, and with some difficulty succeeded in
> introducing it between the door and the side of the wall -- still it
> required great strength to move it, but it did move, with a harsh,
> crackling sound.
MIKE: Now if they could just get Snap and Pop to help out --
>
> "Push it!" cried he who was using the bar, "push the door at the
> same time."
TOM: Unfortunately, the door was supposed to open *outward*.
>
> The younger man did so. For a few moments the massive door
> resisted.
CROW: But resistance was futile.
> Then, suddenly, something gave way with a loud snap -- it
> was part of the lock, -- and the door at once swung wide open.
ALL: SURPRISE! [Singing] Hap-py birthday to you ...
>
> How true it is that we measure time by the events which happen
> within a given space of it, rather than by its actual duration.
MIKE: Which makes judging track meets really hard.
>
> To those who were engaged in forcing open the door of the
> antique chamber, where slept the young girl whom they named Flora,
> each moment was swelled into an hour of agony; but, in reality, from
> the first moment of the alarm to that when the loud cracking noise
> heralded the destruction of the fastenings of the door, there had
> elapsed but very few minutes indeed.
TOM: Otherwise by now she'd be as dry as Steven Wright's humor.
>
> "It opens-- it opens," cried the young man.
>
> "Another moment," said the stranger, as he still plied the
> crowbar -- "another moment, and we shall have free ingress to the
> chamber. Be patient."
CROW: Whoa, didn't the author just say a couple of paragraphs back
that the door "swung wide open"?
MIKE: Well, maybe it's a double-door and just one of them opened.
CROW: Oh, that makes sen-- HUH?
>
> This stranger's name was Marchdale; and even as he spoke, he
> succeeded in throwing the massive door wide open, and clearing the
> passage to the chamber.
TOM: [As Marchdale] Now, if we can just get through this door --
>
> To rush in with a light in his hand was the work of a moment to
> the young man named Henry; but the very rapid progress he made into
> the apartment prevented him from observing accurately what it
> contained, for the wind that came in from the open window caught the
> flame of the candle, and although it did not actually extinguish it,
> it blew it so much on one side, that it was comparatively useless as
> a light.
CROW: [As Marchdale] AAAH! RUNAWAY!
>
> "Flora-- Flora!" he cried.
MIKE: [As Flora] Sorry, you've got the wrong room. I'm Fauna.
>
> Then with a sudden bound something dashed from off the bed. The
> concussion against him was so sudden and so utterly unexpected, as
> well as so tremendously violent, that he was thrown down, and, in his
> fall, the light was fairly extinguished.
TOM: That's right, it was a violent but fair hit.
CROW: Maybe the Vikings should sign him.
>
> All was darkness, save a dull, reddish kind of light that now
> and then, from the nearly consumed mill in the immediate vicinity,
> came into the room. But by that light, dim, uncertain, and flickering
> as it was, some one was seen to make for the window.
CROW: [As sportscaster] Yes, he's shrugged off one would-be tackler and
he's running to daylight -- no, I guess that would be moonlight,
him being a vampire and all.
>
> Henry, although nearly stunned by his fall, saw a figure,
> gigantic in height, which nearly reached from the floor to the
> ceiling. The other young man, George, saw it, and Mr. Marchdale
> likewise saw it, as did the lady who had spoken to the two young men
> in the corridor when first the screams of the young girl awakened
> alarm in the breasts of all the inhabitants of that house.
MIKE: So, let's see. Has everybody seen it? Yes? Good. Let's move on.
>
> The figure was about to pass out at the window which led to a
> kind of balcony, from whence there was an easy descent to a garden.
TOM: [As intruder] Hey, I can take a hint when I'm not wanted.
>
> Before it passed out they each and all caught a glance of the
> side-face, and they saw that the lower part of it and the lips were
> dabbled in blood. They saw, too, one of those fearful-looking,
> shining, metallic eyes which presented so terrible an appearance of
> unearthly ferocity.
CROW: [As intruder, Brooklyn accent] Yo! Somebody wanna piece'a me?
>
> No wonder that for a moment a panic seized them all, which
> paralysed any exertions they might otherwise have made to detain that
> hideous form.
MIKE: Excuses, excuses.
>
> But Mr. Marchdale was a man of mature years; he had seen much in
> life, both in this and in foreign lands; and he, although astonished
> to the extent of being frightened, was much more likely to recover
> sooner than his younger companions, which, indeed, he did, and acted
> promptly enough.
>
> "Don't rise, Henry," he cried. "Lie still."
CROW: [As Henry] Well, gee, okay, if you insist! [Quietly] Whew!
>
> Almost at the moment he uttered these words, he fired at the
> figure, which then occupied the window, as if it were a gigantic
> figure set in a frame.
MIKE: Bang! [As intruder, dismissively] Ouch.
>
> The report was tremendous in that chamber, for the pistol was no
> toy weapon, but one made for actual service, and of sufficient length
> and bore of barrel to carry destruction along with the bullets that
> came from it.
TOM: Yeah, the bullets help.
>
> "If that has missed its aim," said Mr. Marchdale, "I'll never
> pull trigger again."
CROW: Taffy, tractors, sure, but never trigger.
>
> As he spoke he dashed forward, and made a clutch at the figure
> he felt convinced he had shot.
MIKE: [As Marchdale] Wait, please don't rush off, we haven't even been
properly introduced!
>
> The tall form turned upon him, and when he got a full view of
> the face, which he did at that moment, from the opportune
> circumstance of the lady returning at the instant with a light she
> had been to her own chamber to procure, even he, Marchdale, with all
> his courage, and that was great, and all his nervous energy, recoiled
> a step or two, and uttered the exclamation of, "Great God!"
TOM: [As intruder, evilly] Heh-heh-heh, not even close.
>
> That face was one never to be forgotten. It was hideously
> flushed with colour -- the colour of fresh blood; the eyes had a
> savage and remarkable lustre whereas, before, they had looked like
> polished tin -- they now wore a ten times brighter aspect, and
> flashes of light seemed to dart from them. The mouth was open, as
> if, from the natural formation of the countenance, the lips receded
> much from the large canine looking teeth.
MIKE: [As intruder] SUCKERS! No, wait, that's me.
>
> A strange howling noise came from the throat of this monstrous
> figure, and it seemed upon the point of rushing upon Mr. Marchdale.
> Suddenly, then, as if some impulse had seized upon it, it uttered a
> wild and terrible shrieking kind of laugh; and then turning, dashed
> through the window, and in one instant disappeared from before the
> eyes of those who felt nearly annihilated by its fearful presence.
>
> "God help us!" ejaculated Henry.
CROW: Henry was *really* excited.
>
> Mr. Marchdale drew a long breath, and then, giving a stamp on
> the floor, as if to recover himself from the state of agitation into
> which even he was thrown, he cried, --
ALL: [As babies] WHAAAAAAAAW!
>
> "Be it what or who it may, I'll follow it."
>
> "No-- no-- do not," cried the lady.
MIKE: [Unenthusiastically] Stop. Wait. Come back.
>
> "I must, I will. Let who will come with me-- I follow that
> dreadful form."
TOM: [Sings] I will follow him,
Follow him wherever he may go ...
>
> As he spoke, he took the road it took, and dashed through the
> window into the balcony.
CROW: There's a road between the window and the balcony?
TOM: Yeah, and it only took the construction company 6 months to build it.
>
> "And we, too, George," exclaimed Henry; "we will follow Mr.
> Marchdale. This dreadful affair concerns us more nearly than it does
> him."
MIKE: [As Flora] We are *not* having an affair. He told me he's separated!
>
> The lady who was the mother of these young men, and of the
> beautiful girl who had been so awfully visited, screamed aloud, and
> implored them to stay. But the voice of Mr. Marchdale was heard
> exclaiming aloud, --
>
> "I see it-- I see it; it makes for the wall."
TOM: Ah, it's a Pink Floyd fan, then.
>
> They hesitated no longer, but at once rushed into the balcony,
> and from thence dropped into the garden.
CROW: And landed right in the middle of a rosebush.
>
> The mother approached the bed-side of the insensible, perhaps
> murdered girl; she saw her, to all appearance, weltering in blood,
> and, overcome by her emotions, she fainted on the floor of the room.
MIKE: [As Flora] Uh, that's okay, Ma ... don't worry ... I'll be fine ...
>
> When the two young men reached the garden, they found it much
> lighter than might have been fairly expected; for not only was the
> morning rapidly approaching, but the mill was still burning, and
> those mingled lights made almost every object plainly visible, except
> when deep shadows were thrown from some gigantic trees that had stood
> for centuries in that sweetly wooded spot. They heard the voice of
> Mr. Marchdale, as he cried, --
ALL: [As babies] WHAAAAAAAAW!
>
> "There-- there-- towards the wall. There-- there-- God! how it
> bounds along."
TOM: [As Marchdale] No, wait, that's not him, that's Puma Man!
>
> The young men hastily dashed through a thicket in the direction
> from whence his voice sounded, and then they found him looking wild
> and terrified, and with something in his hand which looked like a
> portion of clothing.
CROW: Oh, great, it must be wearing a tear-away cape.
>
> "Which way, which way?" they both cried in a breath.
>
> He leant heavily on the arm of George, as he pointed along a
> vista of trees, and said in a low voice, --
MIKE: [As Marchdale] Would you boys excuse me for a moment? I'm
afraid I have a rather small bladder.
>
> "God help us all. It is not human. Look there-- look there--
> do you not see it?"
>
> They looked in the direction he indicated. At the end of this
> vista was the wall of the garden. At that point it was full twelve
> feet in height, and as they looked, they saw the hideous, monstrous
> form they had traced from the chamber of their sister, making frantic
> efforts to clear the obstacle.
TOM: Ironically, there was an open gate ten feet to its left.
>
> They saw it bound from the ground to the top of the wall, which
> it very nearly reached, and then each time it fell back again into
> the garden with such a dull, heavy sound, that the earth seemed to
> shake again with the concussion.
CROW: [As intruder] Oh, man, am I stuffed! I've *got* to learn to
control my eating!
> They trembled -- well indeed they
> might, and for some minutes they watched the figure making its
> fruitless efforts to leave the place.
MIKE: So they finally have him trapped and they just stand there and
tremble?
TOM: Jeez, Roman Polanski showed more guts than this.
>
> "What-- what is it?" whispered Henry, in hoarse accents. "God,
> what can it possibly be?"
CROW: A frustrated Olympic high-jumper?
>
> "I know not," replied Mr. Marchdale. "I did seize it. It was
> cold and clammy like a corpse. It cannot be human."
>
> "Not human?"
>
> "Look at it now. It will surely escape now."
MIKE: [As Marchdale] Since we've stopped making any effort to pursue it --
>
> "No, no-- we will not be terrified thus-- there is Heaven above
> us. Come on, and, for dear Flora's sake, let us make an effort yet
> to seize this bold intruder."
ALL: HUZZAH!
>
> "Take this pistol," said Marchdale. "It is the fellow of the
> one I fired. Try its efficacy."
CROW: [As Marchdale] And if that doesn't work, try shooting with it.
>
> "He will be gone," exclaimed Henry,
TOM: [As Henry] Or at least he will be if we can just stand here
and gab a while longer --
> as at this moment, after
> many repeated attempts and fearful falls, the figure reached the top
> of the wall, and then hung by its long arms a moment or two, previous
> to dragging itself completely up.
CROW: [As Marchdale] Quick! Efficate him!
>
> The idea of the appearance, be it what it might, entirely
> escaping, seemed to nerve again Mr. Marchdale, and he, as well as the
> two young men, ran forward towards the wall.
MIKE: So they bravely pursue him unless it looks like they might actually
catch him.
CROW: Seems that way.
> They got so close to
> the figure before it sprang down on the outer side of the wall, that
> to miss killing it with the bullet from the pistol was a matter of
> utter impossibility, unless wilfully.
TOM: Come on, you vampire-loving sissy, shoot!
>
> Henry had the weapon, and he pointed it full at the tall form
> with steady aim. He pulled the trigger -- the explosion followed,
> and that the bullet did its office there could be no manner of doubt,
> for the figure gave a howling shriek, and fell headlong from the wall
> on the outside.
CROW: Humpty Dumpty, NO!
>
> "I have shot him," cried Henry, "I have shot him."
MIKE: [As Henry] Charlton would be proud!
>
> -+-
>
>
> CHAPTER III.
>
> THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BODY. -- FLORA'S RECOVERY AND MADNESS. --
> THE OFFER OF ASSISTANCE FROM SIR FRANCIS VARNEY.
CROW: [Sarcastically] Hey, this Sir Francis guy's name is Varney!
You think there's a connection?
>
>
> "He is human!" cried Henry; "I have surely killed him."
MIKE: Call me skeptical, but I wanna see the body first.
>
> "It would seem so," said M. Marchdale. "Let us now hurry round
> to the outside of the wall, and see where he lies."
>
> This was at once agreed to, and the whole three of them made
> what expedition they could towards a gate which let into a paddock,
CROW: [As Marchdale] I'll go fetch the crowbar so we may force the gate.
MIKE: [As Henry] But it's already open--
CROW: [As Marchdale] I'll be back directly, brave lads!
> across which they hurried, and soon found themselves clear of the
> garden wall, so that they could make way towards where they fully
> expected to find the body of him who had worn so unearthly an aspect,
> but who it would be an excessive relief to find was human.
[All begin humming the theme to "Halloween."]
>
> So hurried was the progress they made, that it was scarcely
> possible to exchange many words as they went; a kind of breathless
> anxiety was upon them, and in the speed they disregarded every
> obstacle, which would, at any other time, have probably prevented
> them from taking the direct road they sought.
TOM: [As Henry] OW! Damn tree!
>
> It was difficult on the outside of the wall to say exactly which
> was the precise spot which it might be supposed the body had fallen
> on; but, by following the wall its entire length, surely they would
> come upon it.
MIKE: Unfortunately this was the wall of a gated community.
>
> They did so; but, to their surprise, they got from its
> commencement to its further extremity without finding any dead body,
> or even any symptoms of one having lain there.
CROW: [Yawns] Gee, what a surprise.
>
> At some parts close to the wall there grew a kind of heath, and,
> consequently, the traces of blood would be lost among it, if it so
> happened that at the precise spot at which the strange being had
> seemed to topple over, such vegetation had existed. This was to be
> ascertained; but now, after traversing the whole length of the wall
> twice, they came to a halt, and looked wonderingly in each other's
> faces.
TOM: [As Henry] This *is* the side he fell on, right?
>
> "There is nothing here," said Harry.
>
> "Nothing," added his brother.
>
> "It could not have been a delusion," at length said Mr.
> Marchdale, with a shudder.
>
> "A delusion?" exclaimed the brothers. "That is not possible; we
> all saw it."
>
> "Then what terrible explanation can we give?"
MIKE: Swamp gas?
>
> "By heavens! I know not," exclaimed Henry. "This adventure
> surpasses all belief, and but for the great interest we have in it, I
> should regard it with a world of curiosity."
CROW: So you can't be curious about something you're interested in?
>
> "It is too dreadful," said George; "for God's sake, Henry, let
> us return to ascertain if poor Flora is killed."
>
> "My senses," said Henry,
TOM: [As Henry] I lost them around here *somewhere*.
> "were all so much absorbed in gazing at
> that horrible form, that I never once looked towards her further than
> to see that she was, to appearance, dead. God help her! poor-- poor,
> beautiful Flora. This is, indeed, a sad, sad fate for you to come to.
> Flora-- Flora-- "
>
> "Do not weep, Henry," said George. "Rather let us now hasten
> home, where we may find that tears are premature. She may yet be
> living and restored to us."
MIKE: [As Henry] Oh -- I guess I might not get her room, then.
>
> "And," said Mr. Marchdale, "she may be able to give us some
> account of this dreadful visitation."
>
> "True-- true," exclaimed Henry; "we will hasten home."
>
> They now turned their steps homewards, and as they went they
> much blamed themselves for all leaving home together, and with terror
> pictured what might occur in their absence to those who were now
> totally unprotected.
TOM: As well they should, the lug-heads.
>
> "It was a rash impulse of us all to come in pursuit of this
> dreadful figure," remarked Mr. Marchdale; "but do not torment
> yourself, Henry. There may be no reason for your fears."
CROW: [As Marchdale] Then again, who knows, we may find total carnage.
TOM: [As Henry, moaning] Ohhhh --
>
> At the pace they went, they very soon reached the ancient house;
> and when they came in sight of it, they saw lights flashing from the
> windows, and the shadows of faces moving to and fro, indicating that
> the whole household was up, and in a state of alarm.
MIKE: That or it was another of the family's wild late-night bashes.
>
> Henry, after some trouble, got the hall door opened by a
> terrified servant, who was trembling so much that she could scarcely
> hold the light she had with her.
>
> "Speak at once, Martha," said Henry. "Is Flora living?"
>
> "Yes; but--"
>
> "Enough-- enough! Thank God she lives; where is she now?"
TOM: [As servant] Clawing her way out of her grave.
>
> "In her own room, Master Henry. Oh, dear-- oh, dear, what will
> become of us all?"
CROW: You ever hear of a town called "Salem's Lot"?
>
> Henry rushed up the staircase, followed by George and Mr.
> Marchdale, nor paused he once until he reached the room of his
> sister.
>
> "Mother," he said, before he crossed the threshold, "are you
> here?"
MIKE: [As Mother] No, I'm over there.
>
> "I am, my dear-- I am. Come in, pray come in, and speak to
> Flora."
>
> "Come in, Mr. Marchdale," said Henry-- "come in; we will make no
> stranger of you."
TOM: After all, he can't be any stranger than he is already.
>
> They all entered the room.
CROW: And temporarily got jammed shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway.
>
> Several lights had been now brought into that antique chamber,
> and, in addition to the mother of the beautiful girl who had been so
> fearfully visited, there were two female domestics, who appeared to
> be in the greatest possible fright, for they could render no
> assistance whatever to anybody.
CROW: Well, good grief, then what do they keep them around there for?
MIKE: I don't know if that's something we need to get into right now.
>
> The tears were streaming down the mother's face, and the moment
> she saw Mr. Marchdale, she clung to his arm, evidently unconscious of
> what she was about, and exclaimed, --
TOM: [As Mother] Comfort me, you hunk!
>
> "Oh, what is this that has happened-- what is this? Tell me,
> Marchdale! Robert Marchdale, you whom I have known even from my
> childhood, you will not deceive me. Tell me the meaning of all
> this?"
MIKE: [As Marchdale, gruffly] Hey, who do you think I am, Buddah?
>
> "I cannot," he said, in a tone of much emotion. "As God is my
> judge, I am as much puzzled and amazed at the scene that has taken
> place here to-night as you can be."
CROW: Why is it I don't regard that as a big concession?
>
> The mother wrung her hands and wept.
TOM: Mother always knew how to inspire confidence in the darkest
of times.
>
> "It was the storm that first awakened me," added Marchdale; "and
> then I heard a scream."
MIKE: [As Marchdale] And after that it was dreadfully hard to get
back to sleep, so I figured I may as well get up.
>
> The brothers tremblingly approached the bed. Flora was placed
> in a sitting, half-reclining posture, propped up by pillows. She was
> quite insensible,
TOM: But then, she's *always* been insensible.
> and her face was fearfully pale; while that she
> breathed at all could be but very faintly seen. On some of her
> clothing, about the neck, were spots of blood, and she looked more
> like one who had suffered some long and grievous illness, than a
> young girl in the prime of life and in the most robust health, as she
> had been on the day previous to the strange scene we have recorded.
CROW: Her bosom -- tell us more about her bosom!
>
> "Does she sleep?" said Henry, as a tear fell from his eyes upon
> her pallid cheek.
>
> "No," replied Mr. Marchdale. "This is a swoon, from which we
> must recover her."
MIKE: [As Henry] Maybe I should keep dripping tears all over her face?
>
> Active measures were now adopted to restore the languid
> circulation, and, after persevering in them for some time, they had
> the satisfaction of seeing her open her eyes.
CROW: Wait a minute, what kind of "active measures"?
MIKE: I don't know if that's something we need to get into right now,
either.
>
> Her first act upon consciousness returning, however, was to
> utter a loud shriek, and it was not until Henry implored her to look
> around her, and see that she was surrounded by none but friendly
> faces, that she would venture again to open her eyes, and look
> timidly from one to the other. Then she shuddered, and burst into
> tears as she said, --
>
> "Oh, Heaven, have mercy upon me-- Heaven, have mercy upon me and
> save me from that dreadful form."
CROW: You heard her, Marchdale, OUT!
>
> "There is no one here, Flora," said Mr. Marchdale, "but those
> who love you, and who, in defence of you, if needs were would lay
> down their lives."
>
> "Oh, God! Oh, God!"
TOM: [As George Burns] What is it *now*?
>
> "You have been terrified. But tell us distinctly what has
> happened? You are quite safe now."
>
> She trembled so violently that Mr. Marchdale recommended that
> some stimulant should be give to her, and she was persuaded, although
> not without considerable difficulty, to swallow a small portion of
> some wine from a cup.
MIKE: They talked her outta downing the whole bottle, eh?
> There could be no doubt but that the
> stimulating effect of the wine was beneficial, for a slight accession
> of colour visited her cheeks, and she spoke in a firmer tone as she
> said, --
CROW: [As Flora, slurred voice] My you're so br-[HIC] brave Mr. Ma-[HIC]
Marsh Ale.
>
> "Do not leave me. Oh, do not leave me, any of you. I shall die
> if left alone now. Oh, save me-- save me. That horrible form! That
> fearful face!"
>
> "Tell us how it happened, dear Flora?" said Henry.
>
> "No-- no-- no," she said, "I do not think I shall ever sleep
> again."
TOM: [As Flora] That's right! I'll ... never ...... ZZZZZZZZZ........
>
> "Say not so; you will be more composed in a few hours, and then
> you can tell us what has occurred."
>
> "I will tell you now. I will tell you now."
MIKE: I guess she's going to tell them now.
>
> She placed her hands over her face for a moment, as if to
> collect her scattered thoughts, and then she added, --
CROW: [As Flora] I will tell you now.
>
> "I was awakened by the storm, and I saw that terrible apparition
> at the window. I think I screamed, but I could not fly. Oh, God! I
> could not fly.
TOM: Well, no wonder. With that big storm everything was probably
grounded.
> It came-- it seized me by the hair. I know no more.
> I know no more."
MIKE: I think Flora's got a little problem with repeating herself.
I think Flora's got a little problem with repeating herself.
>
> She passed her hand across her neck several times, and Mr.
> Marchdale said, in an anxious voice, --
>
> "You seem, Flora, to have hurt your neck-- there is a wound."
CROW: [As Flora] Oh, no -- not a hickey!
>
> "A wound!" said the mother, and she brought a light close to the
> bed, where all saw on the side of Flora's neck a small punctured
> wound; or, rather two, for there was one a little distance from the
> other.
>
> It was from these wounds the blood had come which was observable
> upon her night clothing.
TOM: Really, ya THINK?
>
> "How came these wounds?" said Henry.
MIKE: You think it might have something to do with the guy with the
big canine teeth and bloody mouth and that sucking noise?
Hummmm -- NAAAAH.
>
> "I do not know," she replied. "I feel very faint and weak, as
> if I had almost bled to death."
>
> "You cannot have done so, dear Flora, for there are not above
> half-a-dozen spots of blood to be seen at all."
CROW: Well, gee, I wonder where the blood went. Duuuuh.
>
> Mr. Marchdale leaned against the carved head of the bed for
> support, and he uttered a deep groan. All eyes were turned upon him,
> and Henry said, in a voice of the most anxious inquiry, --
TOM: [As Henry] You gonna hurl?
>
> "Have you something to say, Mr. Marchdale, which will throw some
> light upon this affair."
CROW: [As Henry] Or are you just gonna stand there like somebody who just
saw the first 30 minutes of "Saving Private Ryan"?
>
> "No, no, no, nothing!" cried Mr. Marchdale, rousing himself at
> once from the appearance of depression that had come over him. "I
> have nothing to say, but that I think Flora had better get some sleep
> if she can."
MIKE: Yeah, real convincing, Marchdale.
>
> "No sleep -- no sleep for me," again screamed Flora. "Dare I be
> alone to sleep?"
>
> "But you shall not be alone, dear Flora," said Henry. "I will
> sit by your bedside and watch you."
TOM: Maybe that's what she's afraid of.
MIKE & CROW: Ooooo!
>
> She took his hand in both hers, and while the tears chased each
> other down her cheeks, she said, --
>
> "Promise me, Henry, by all your hopes of Heaven, you will not
> leave me."
>
> "I promise."
CROW: [As Henry] I'll even have them move a porta-potty into the room.
>
> She gently laid herself down, with a deep sigh, and closed her
> eyes.
TOM: Now, relax, Flora, and SLEEEEP!
>
> "She is weak, and will sleep long," said Mr. Marchdale.
>
> "You sigh," said Henry. "Some fearful thoughts, I feel certain,
> oppress your heart."
>
> "Hush-- hush!"
MIKE: Sweet Charlotte!
> said Mr. Marchdale, as he pointed to Flora.
> "Hush! not here-- not here."
>
> "I understand," said Henry.
CROW: I don't *think* so.
>
> "Let her sleep."
>
> There was a silence of some few minutes' duration. Flora had
> dropped into a deep slumber. That silence was first broken by
> George, who said, --
MIKE: [As George] FLORA, HONEY, ARE YOU ASLEEP?
>
> "Mr. Marchdale, look at that portrait."
TOM: [As George] I ask you, have you ever seen anything more tacky
in your life?
>
> He pointed to the portrait in the frame to which we have
> alluded, and the moment Marchdale looked at it he sunk into a chair
> as he exclaimed, --
MIKE: [As Marchdale] Someone really should put a seat on this chair frame!
>
> "Gracious Heaven, how like!"
>
> "It is-- it is," said Henry. "Those eyes--"
CROW: [As Henry] That shapely nose, those pouty lips --
>
> "And see the contour of the countenance, and the strange shape
> of the mouth."
TOM: [As Marchdale] That odd, mystic smile --
>
> "Exact-- exact."
MIKE: As if this story wasn't exacting enough.
>
> "That picture shall be moved from here. The sight of it is at
> once sufficient to awaken all her former terrors in poor Flora's
> brain if she should chance to awaken and cast her eyes suddenly upon
> it."
CROW: [As George] I have it! Let's put it in Mother's room!
>
> "And is it so like him who came here?" said the mother.
>
> "It is the very man himself," said Mr. Marchdale. "I have not
> been in this house long enough to ask any of you whose portrait that
> may be?"
>
> "It is," said Henry, "the portrait of Sir Runnagate Bannerworth,
TOM: [Giggling] "RUNNAGATE"?
CROW: Hey, won't the cops pull you over when you do that?
MIKE: Jeez, with a name like that, no wonder he's so surly.
> an ancestor of ours, who first, by his vices, gave the great blow to
> the family prosperity."
MIKE: [As Henry, with distaste] He actually married a *commoner*!
>
> "Indeed. How long ago?"
>
> "About ninety years."
>
> "Ninety years. 'Tis a long while-- ninety years."
TOM: And he's still as spry as Jack Palance!
>
> "You muse upon it."
CROW: And you're getting it all dirty!
>
> "No, no. I do wish, and yet I dread--"
MIKE: Which?
>
> "What?"
TOM: Huh?
>
> "To say something to you all. But not here-- not here. We will
> hold a consultation on this matter to-morrow. Not now-- not now."
CROW: [As Marchdale] We want to prod the readers into buying our
next issue.
>
> "The daylight is coming quickly on," said Henry; "I shall keep
> my sacred promise of not moving from this room until Flora awakens;
> but there can be no occasion for the detention of any of you. One is
> sufficient here. Go all of you, and endeavour to procure what rest
> you can."
MIKE: Yeah, shouldn't be any problem, Henry alone against a big strong
vampire who takes two bullets and keeps on truckin'.
CROW: Where's Buffy when you need her, anyway?
>
> "I will fetch you my powder-flask and bullets," said Mr.
> Marchdale; "and you can, if you please, reload the pistols. In about
> two hours more it will be broad daylight."
TOM: [As Marchdale] So feel free to pull trigger if he comes back.
>
> This arrangement was adopted. Henry did reload the pistols, and
> placed them on a table by the side of the bed, ready for immediate
> action, and then, as Flora was sleeping soundly, all left the room
> but himself.
MIKE: Then suddenly Henry rips off his disguise and it turns out to be
Freddie Krueger.
>
> Mrs. Bannerworth was the last to do so. She would have
> remained, but for the earnest solicitation of Henry, that she would
> endeavour to get some sleep to make up for her broken night's repose,
> and she was indeed so broken down by her alarm on Flora's account,
> that she had not power to resist, but with tears flowing from her
> eyes, she sought her own chamber.
CROW: But mistakenly goes through the doors to the balcony and falls off.
>
> And now the calmness of the night resumed its sway in that
> evil-fated mansion; and although no one really slept but Flora, all
> were still. Busy thought kept every one else wakeful.
TOM: Busy thought being a novelty around the mansion and all.
> It was a
> mockery to lie down at all, and Henry, full of strange and painful
> feelings as he was,
CROW: While sitting there in his sister's bedroom watching her sleep...
hummmm...
> preferred his present position to the anxiety and
> apprehension on Flora's account which he knew he should feel if she
> were not within the sphere of his own observation, and she slept as
> soundly as some gentle infant tired of its playmates and its sports.
MIKE: Like Tara Lipinski after her first competition.
>
> -+-
>
> Next Time: The Morning. -- The Consultation. -- The Fearful Suggestion.
TOM: Hey, that's the end of the third chapter! We can quit now!
MIKE: Huh. Time just flies when you're having fun. [He stands
and picks up Tom.]
CROW: Wait a minute -- what about Sir Francis Varney's "offer of
assistance?" Shouldn't we stick around and--
TOM: No, I don't think so.
MIKE: Sorry Crow, but if you want to stick around here by yourself--
CROW: Er, no, that's okay, I'll, uh, check it out later.
[All exit the theater.]
...o...2...3...4...5...6...*
[SoL. Bridge. Crow is alone, reading something on a laptop computer
that sits atop the console. Tom enters.]
TOM: Man, cleaning out those air-locks is really hard work! I almost
feel sorry that I had to think up all those excuses to keep from
helping Mike. Er, say, Crow, what are you doing?
CROW: Huh? Oh, I found a web site on the internet which has the
entire "Varney the Vampyre" serial. All 237 chapters.
It's at http://www.comclin.net/humphrey/varney/varney.htm --
[The outline of a dark figure drifts into the hexfield viewscreen in
the background, unseen by the 'bots, and begins feeling around the
portal.]
TOM: You're reading that stuff *voluntarily*? Crow, I think you're
finally cracking.
CROW: No, the thing grows on you, kinda like a soap -- which I
guess it was in a way for people back then. It's actually
entertaining in a campy sorta way, probably like the old
Flash Gordon matinees Joel and Mike told us about. Only
bloodier.
TOM: Well, just don't start taking that stuff seriously.
CROW: Are you kidding? Who could -- [He notices the figure outlined
in the viewscreen] -- OH MY GOD, SERVO, LOOK! IT'S THE VAMPIRE,
AND HE'S TRYING TO BREAK IN! AAAAH!
TOM: [Also looking at the viewscreen] OH NO! AAAAH!
CROW: AAAAH!
TOM: AAAAH! MIKE, GET OUT HERE! WE'RE BEING ATTACKED! AAAAH!
CROW: AAAAH! Where is Mike, anyway? AAAAH!
TOM: AAAAH! He was right behind me. AAAAH!
CROW: AAAAH! Well he's not there now. AAAAH!
TOM: AAAAH! But he was right THERE, just finishing up with that
last airlock.
TOM & CROW: AAAAaaaah...
[Crow and Tom stop screaming and look at each other thoughtfully
for a moment, then shift their gaze back to the figure outside the
viewscreen who is now making frantic gestures and desperately
pounding on the portal. Crow and Tom then slowly look back at
each other again with dawning realization.]
TOM & CROW: Oops.
[CF. Pearl, Bobo, and Observer are on the couch, but all are
now apparently caught up in watching a movie. We hear whirry
1950's style science fiction music that comes from a television,
the front of which we cannot see from our angle. They are sharing
a large bowl of popcorn that sits beside a smaller bowl of candy
on the table in front of them, and Observer is sipping from the straw
of a large slurpee.]
OBSERVER: I must say, this is one of the more peculiar earth customs
that baffles me, why your people intentionally attempt to
frighten themselves with odd films and stories and pranks
each 31st of October. And your capitalist institutions have
taken to it with such abandon, right down to the marketing of
special items such as this silly "Green Goblin Goo" frozen
beverage. I must say, though, it *is* rather tasty.
[He begins to take another long sip from his slurpee.]
PEARL: You think *that's* capitalistic, wait'll we get closer to
Christmas, Pal.
BOBO: And you'd better not drink that so fast, you'll give yourself
brain freeze!
OBSERVER: [Shakes his head, then] Fortunately, that can't
happen. One of the benefits of having a disconnected
cerebrum.
BOBO: [Chuckles] Oh, of course!
[There is a knock at the door.]
PEARL: [Not moving her eyes from the TV] Criminy, aren't those little
brats done their trick-or-treating *yet*?
BOBO: [Enthusiastically getting up] I'll get it!
PEARL: [Still looking at TV, as Bobo picks up a bowl of candy and heads
toward the door] Bobo, why don't you get it?
[Pearl, taking a bite of popcorn, and Observer, taking yet another
long sip of his drink, stare intently at the TV while behind them
Bobo opens the door.]
BOBO: [To person outside door, who we cannot see] Gracious! That's
an impressive costu--
[Bobo's words are cut off as a long thin pale arm with lengthy
and sharp nails reaches in, grabs him by the throat, and pulls
him out the door and offscreen. A moment later we hear sucking
and slurping sounds.]
PEARL: [Still staring at TV] Brain Guy, *try* not to make so much
noise with that damn drink, will you?
OBSERVER: [Pulling the straw from his mouth] I apologize Madam, I --
[Observer stares in confusion at his cup for a few moments as the
sounds continue. Then he slowly shifts his gaze to us, his
face taking on a growing look of terror.]
OBSERVER: [Breathlessly] Oh, my! [He reaches to the side, grabs
the blanket from earlier, throws it over top of himself,
and begins shivering in fright.]
[The sucking and slurping finally ceases. We now hear a sound like
a champagne cork popping out of a bottle, followed by a satisfied
"Ahhhh."]
PEARL: [Irritated, finally turning to look at Observer] Look, Casper,
cut out the -- [She sees the trembling, covered lump that
is now Observer] Oh, Jeez, now you're scared by a dumb sci-fi
film? Man, talk about a pain in the neck! [She turns her
attention back to the TV.]
[Fade out. Roll credits and play closing theme.]
8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8
| |
| Mystery Science Theater 3000 and its associated characters |
| and situations are the property of and trademarks of Best |
| Brains, Inc. In no way should this MiSTing be construed to |
| be an infringement on those rights. All rights reserved. |
| Use of copyrighted and trademarked material is for entertainment |
| purposes only; no infringement on the original copyrights or trade- |
| marks held by Best Brains, Inc. is intended or should be inferred. |
| This work is a satire and not intended as a personal attack upon |
| the original author(s) or other persons or characters presented, |
| and is meant only as entertainment and commentary. |
| |
8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8 8======8
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
"Varney the Vampyre" was originally written by James Malcolm Rymer
and appeared in a series of 109 "penny numbers" between 1845 and 1847.
(See http://www.comclin.net/humphrey/varney/intro-1.htm for more info.)
The three "Varney the Vampyre" chapters in this MiSTing were copied
from "The Varney the Vampyre Text Archive" at
http://www.comclin.net/humphrey/varney/varney.htm.
That site contains all 237 (un-MiSTed) chapters in
this landmark horror serial.
> "If that has missed its aim," said Mr. Marchdale, "I'll never
> pull trigger again."